A Thousand Times
by Kamikins
Summary: Alfred treasures every memory of Arthur - the good and the bad. Warning: Character Death. Songfic.


_I had a dream that you were mine; I had that dream a thousand times…_

Alfred awoke to a hot room. His fan, an old one that he'd stolen from his parents, hummed in the emptiness and barely managed to spit out cool air. He really needed to get that replaced someday.

He swept the bangs from his forehead, sticky and damp, before tossing his arm over his head lazily. The sheets were warm, too. And damp. The pillow was warm and likely also damp. He glided a hand across the cotton fabric, but there were no cold spots to be found. He even flipped his pillow and readjusted himself, only to find that it, too, was too warm to provide any adequate comfort. It was funny, really.

It was funny that he yearned for something cold when, not even two months ago, he had damned autumn, winter, and spring all to hell. Summer had been all he had left, but it ended up being just as unbearable as the others. Heat? Cold? Didn't matter; it all sucked when you looked back at it. But then you missed it when it went away.

Alfred sighed loudly, knowing no one would hear him in the empty apartment. He cocked his head to look at the clock.

 _4:12 A.M._

He'd woken up early again. Far too early considering he wasn't even scheduled until ten. He did that a lot these days, as if even his dreams couldn't stand to be near him. Alfred sighed angrily and rolled over, pulling the comforter over his head and willing himself to suffocate. Then, when it began to feel like an oven, he threw it off with a gasp for air and kicked the bed frame over and over again in frustration. He was alone; no one would mind the ruckus. He stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, then became paranoid that a ghost was watching him, and then reopened them. Laying on his back was pretty comfortable, he decided, but he'd also heard rumors about sleep paralysis – like hell he was going to deal with that shit. He turned to his side again.

He wouldn't be able to fall asleep like this, not in this heat. He thought about getting up to change the thermostat, but ultimately decided against it. Too much effort.

He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, remembering cold feet pressing into the back of his calves. Cold feet and cold hands, but always filled with warmth. Not actual warmth, but like, _emotional_ warmth. The only warmth he wanted right now. The only summers he wanted anymore were green eyes and freckled shoulders.

" _Alfred!" Arthur laughed, kicking Alfred in the ass. "Stay on your fucking side!"_

 _Alfred scooted backwards, twerking his bum into Arthur's crotch comedically, with just the slightest hint of suggestion._

" _You know you like it, babe."_

" _No!"_ _  
"You know you want it," Alfred grinned._

" _Stop," Arthur panted, smiling as he flung himself over Alfred. Pale arms, scarred arms, grasped at Alfred's own in an attempt to pin them down. Alfred pulled them to his chest, pulling Arthur closer as well. He shifted and cocked his head so that their lips were only inches apart. Pale lips. Pale everything._

" _Kiss me?" Alfred asked. "Kiss me or lose me."_

" _Hm," Arthur put a finger to his chin in mock thought. His mouth melted into a sweet smile, and the finger was used to pull Alfred's chin closer. They kissed heatedly, so heatedly that they were dripping all over each other by the time the kiss was finished, both in sweat and in lust._

" _Alfie," Arthur whimpered as Alfred climbed on top of him. He trembled, pink and damp and everything Alfred had ever wanted. Arthur lifted a hand and flicked Alfred's cowlick, then cupped his face._

 _Mine._

Alfred shuddered as he stared at the wall. He felt the moisture pool in the corners of his eyes, and when they spilled over he didn't care. One gasp, then two, and after the third he was sobbing into his comforter, chewing on it desperately – like a child, he recognized. He didn't care.

He sobbed and he slobbered on the blankets (he'd wash them tomorrow) and he noticed that it was becoming impossible to breathe through his nose.

" _You're so young, lad. There are so much worse things than death."_

The fan hummed a familiar lullaby. Alfred listened to it, repeating Arthur's name in a mantra.

 _A thousand times, A thousand times…_

 _I had that dream a thousand times._

* * *

Author's Note:

I might continue this, so I'm not just going to label it a "oneshot" and be done with it.

Anyways, the song is "A Thousand Times" by Hamilton Leithauser.

Also, if you read my other fics, I promise they will both be updated by the end of the month if everything goes according to schedule. The next chapter for _Bleeding Heather_ is almost done.

Thanks for reading!


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